British -- India -- Fiction; Epistolary fiction; Kolkata (India) -- History -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
“Indeed, madam,” says he, fetching a heavy sigh, “my situation can’t
appear stranger to you than it did irksome to myself until a few
minutes ago. Sure you see before you the victim of a series of the
cruellest misfortunes that ever baulked a man of his most reasonable
desires. You’ll be already aware, questionless, that in February the
King despatched Admiral Watson to the East Indies with the Kent and
Salisbury and others of his Majesty’s ships, in the anticipation that
when war next breaks out with France, much will hang upon the
situation in the Decan, where our nation and the French have been so
continually at strife of late years. You will be at no loss to imagine
that the recent exploits and successes of Colonel Clive have stirred
up such a spirit of emulation in both the sea and land services that
the Admiral might have had his pick of the whole nation either as
officers or volunteers on board of his ships, but it so happened that
having been fortunate enough to gain his approbation when serving with
him before (for I was bred up under him from my earliest youth at
sea), I had his promise to take me with him if he could in any way
compass it. But now, madam, came in the first of the distressing
accidents I have mentioned. Not only did I find my applications
continually set aside in favour of gentlemen who possessed greater
interest than I could boast, but Mr Watson’s own desires were thwarted
with a like persistence. And all this was in spite of the many signal
services rendered by my father to the Government in the rising of the
Highlands nine years back, so true is the saying that good offices are
seldom remembered unless their repetition is looked for.”
“Pray, sir,” cries the Captain, “stick to your tale, and don’t weary
the ladies with pieces of musty wisdom that you’ve picked up from some
long-winded divine.”
“Pray, nephew Henry,” says Mrs Hamlin, seeing that Lieutenant Fraser,
although out of countenance by reason of the interruption, was looking
very fierce; “don’t break into the gentleman’s history, which we all
love to hear him tell in his own style. Sure you ought to know that
though you fine London sparks may make a boast of your ignorance,
every Scottish gentleman prides himself on possessing a store of
polite learning and reflections, and if Mr Fraser is good enough to
display his for our entertainment, he is to be commended, and not
blamed. Pray, sir, continue.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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